Runner
by WriteToLive
Summary: A Jack fic and something rather abstract.


He runs these days. He used to be a runner, but now he just runs. There used to be times and distances judged, splits and training schedules, sprints and jogs, hill runs and road, beach and track. Proper shorts, and a singlet, and good shoes bought from a specialist store, designed to protect and cushion, nurture and give on impact – not too much. Just enough to help him bounce back and keep going.

It's hot today.

Sweat pours into his eyes and he can hardly see, a dirty arm wipes across his brow and smears grime across his skin, his breath comes in heaving

_sobs_

gasps. The boots blister his feet, hell, blistered them five miles ago but he doesn't give a fuck. It's humid

_when did it get so cold?_

and the air is full of moisture, it weighs on his lungs and tightens them, fills them, drowns them. But he's been drowning for a long time now and this is just another day in the life of someone who runs.

The track curves right and disappears into the trees but he does what he always does and just keeps right on going, off into the undergrowth, jumping over logs and fighting through every patch of brambles and nettles, stings raising welts, skin getting scratched off and a latticework of cuts tattooing his skin. But not forever, they close over on the top and no one can see, and cloth covers the ones that were made by more than just running. They're alright though because they healed

_stitches and iodine and the stink of the hospital and the machines that beep with the nurses that smile_

and he kept going, just like he's doing now, but the blood is running down his legs and

_no one can see _

it's alright because they'll close over and he knows it and so does everyone else.

He breaks through the first lot of undergrowth and there's a field to the next one, the next forest, the next track, the next fight through the bushes. And his legs slam into the ground that's so hard because it never rains and he can feel the skin being grated off his heel as he runs

_peel peel every time I land another layer comes off and if I do this long enough I'll be down to the bone and if I keep going even then there'll be nothing left to run on_

but that's alright because there's tough leather over the top and

_no one can see_

that protects almost everything, right? These are Army boots, built to last, they won't ever fall apart because they're

_trained_

made that way.

Maybe there's someone calling his name in the distance, he thought he might have heard someone scream. Probably just an animal though, maybe lost, maybe in pain

_maybe both_

or maybe it's the owner searching for it, calling it back home where it'll be warm and safe

_except needles can't yell_

and the door can be closed, keeping the rest of the world away while the fire burns brightly in the kitchen hearth. Or maybe neither of those things, maybe it was just the scream of one animal to each other, issuing its

_mating call_

challenge, calling one out to fight and stand up for itself. Perhaps the animal would answer, throw out a scream into the dark, black void and hope that it was heard because

_no one ever hears_

the way its been trained, there's always someone to fight and when that one's beaten, there's always one more, and another, and another, until you reach the one that actually fights back and tears lumps out of the flesh

_Ramon_

until you see the opportunity to go for the jugular and even then they might still have the energy to make a last stand and get one last fight.

He crashes back into the forest with a yell and there's the track only he's going too fast to steer himself onto it and instead he just crosses it and keeps right on running because that's what

_drug runners_

runners do, they run until they can't breathe anymore. And he can't breathe, the air is being crushed out of his lungs as he fights his way through streams and round trees and leaping bushes and trying not to trip on the

_needles_

traps that the hunters set because they'll send him head first into the dirt and he might not have enough

_unmarked skin_

energy left to hold himself together long enough to keep going and get out of this, he might find himself wallowing and then slipping and if the dark should come and he's still there

_it's always night_

he might find himself lost

_always lost_

and with no chance to find his way

_because no one sees and no one hears and the forest goes on forever_

home. And

_this hurts and soon there'll be nothing left_

in the distance

_there'll be the sound of a gunshot and it'll fill the ears with_

way up ahead, he can see the track and there is a

_blood and he'll taste it and the lungs will start to fill and he'll know that he's drowning, just like he is now because it's hot and there's no breath left and he's running for his life because he's a drug_

runner

_and the cops are behind him and he can hear the dogs and the shouts and someone's been shot and up ahead the animal waits because he's going to make it this time, he wont get left behind and Ramon is there and he'll be taken to that kitchen and then it'll be night and there'll be needles and it'll be warm and there's a trap and the night falls and tears lumps from the flesh_

and it's wearing shorts, and a singlet and good shoes bought from a specialist store, designed to protect and cushion, nurture and give on impact – not too much. Just enough to help him bounce back and keep going.


End file.
